


I’m not God

by ColorZPrincezZ



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Religious Theme, Anthony is not a Good man, Gen, Holy Father Peter Parker, I Wrote This On My Phone, M/M, Mafia Boss Tony Stark, Mob Boss Tony Stark, Oh look another Mob Boss au, Peter is a saint, Priest Peter Parker, i watched a marathon of The Young Pope and this happened, mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorZPrincezZ/pseuds/ColorZPrincezZ
Summary: “Father—“ Peter’s voice was a mere whisper. “I cannot serve this man.”
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Kudos: 55





	I’m not God

_I’m not God_

The late afternoon was clear and sunny. The sky was pure joy of condensed ocean water and splashes of sea foam as the clouds travel gingerly above their heads. Rays of warm sunshine passed through the wide windows in kaleidoscopic colors creating halos of rainbows onto people’s head. The congregation. 

Rows of families soon filled up the space. They weren’t a big church nor a big parrish but the community was kind and welcoming. Sunday mornings were held on a early mass and by the time the sun was high up, the people came together to share food and stories. 

Afternoon such as this one were calms and usually empty, but today late risers decided to be part of one last salute to God before closing their doors until tomorrow. 

It was known the church not only served that propuse. The wide room was used as a shelter in cold days for people who couldn’t afford a place to stay, or travelers lost in the mist of winter. Peter doesn’t remember much of his life before the church and what his mind seems to remind him of is more often than not blurry images of pain and blood, filling his ears with screams of terror and sadness. 

No, Peter doesn’t know much about his life before but in reality he doesn’t need much, he is happy with what he has. 

And what he has is days days full of laughter, stories to be told and his heart aches in joy at the sense of fullness he sinks in while helping others around the Parrish. One of his most nervous moments would be tending the early mass. 

Peter is by no means a man of God, he is not even a man yet, his body and soul haven’t finished growing out his boyish features such as the roundness of his cheeks or the softness in his voice, he wasn’t  that tall yet but taller than most of the boys and girls surrounding them. Peter loves to play with them in the open spaces; running and shouting happily before a warm meal was the best way to spend his days. But his early hours he soon came to learned were for the sake of God. 

Peter leaned, was still learning and couldn’t denied his curiosity and fascination for all of it. The songs of glorified times, chants of sorrow and forgiveness and the always positive answer. With his other cheek ready to be stricken his heart would come to forgive and forget. Peter didn’t see it for himself but was amazed by those who did. Such as Father Ben. 

Father Benjamin was not an old man as the ones Peter has seen before but not too young so he would still be taken serious in his duties. His clothing were simple but clean and neat ready for the seasonal change and needs for the congregation. Peter learned shortly, Father Ben was never married but cared for a woman such as he had taken a bow in front of God. May Parker was a blessing in his life, a lighting in his confuse path of living. But the woman became extremely ill and his last breath was rather taken in her sleep. 

Peter used May’s books to teach the children of the Parrish. 

With others Peter opened the doors of the church each day hearing a thankful chirp from the birds and cool breeze moved his hair. Cleaned the altars but was never brave enough to touch the Eucharist even after being told how to do so. Peter didn’t feel worthy of such honor. He wasn’t even meant to be there. 

Ben set his hand in Peter’s hair bringing him comfort. 

“Don’t worry child. Your time will come someday, but rest assure you have nothing to be afraid of.” The priest smiled irradiating Peter with kindness and comfort. “God will be happy to touch your hands.” Peter blushes ashamed of his doubts and simply nodded unsure to what to say next. 

Ben placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder and left him go, the man knew it was not his place nor his right to push Peter’s fears. Ben could see Peter being guided by questions and longing but never completely sure of what he wanted whether it be staying in the Parrish and become one of them, a man of God or to leave and create a life for his own. 

The boy was young thou, he still had time. 

Being left at the doors of that same church years back still felt sting of forgotten past feeling like a war hero that misses a missing limb after coming home from battle. Ben still remembered that day as if happened yesterday, in fact, couldn’t let go of Peter’s lost hollow eyes, his face harshly cleaned with some blood under his cheeks, the disheveled clothing with the oversized jacket obviously not his and his trembling body. 

Ben still remembers the fading form of the man who left Peter with them. 

What he never began to fathom was that Peter remembered him too. 

That’s why set that afternoon Peter was helping him with the late mass. Rows of family began to fill the space, smoothly and in no rush. 

The passages were said and prayers were heard, the songs came in and went by, children laugh could be heard from the plaza down the corner. 

Soon it was time to share the Eucharist and one by one the people came together in two perfect rows walking slowly grateful for their service. 

Peter seemed doing fine next to him. A couple of older couples waited patiently for the boy to overcome his fear and shyness and some even joked about soon being served by a joyful father Parker making the boy laugh with rosy cheeks. So, it was in no way expected for the boy to freeze in fear and impression as a middle age couple came closer. 

The woman set in a pristine suit, her white high heels soft clicked on the floor following the rhythm of a voiceless tune around the others. Her hair was done in a long ponytail showing her blue eyes and her high cheekbones, her smile didn’t reach her eyes but somehow Ben didn’t feel it was fake or any lack of warmth. 

Next to her was a man dressed in a perfect three piece suit in a deep midnight blue that seemed to match the eyes’ colors of the woman keeping him company. His eyebrows were full and had long lashes. 

“Father—“ Peter’s voice was a mere whisper and with a short nod he gave the boy his attention after seeing the woman go. 

Peter stood still. His hands were half way to served the man in front of him when he realized. It came in a rush, a flash of unwanted memories making his hand shake one more time. 

He would never forget that distinguish trail of the man that change his life. 

A perfectly trim beard in a curious shape. 

“I cannot serve this man.” Peter looked conflicted as fighting within what was expressed for him to do and what his body was begging him to do, and now his brain is screaming for him to flea and escape, get as far from that man as he could. Ben was about to refute his ways but later he saw how Peter fought his shaky hands and with a silent apology even took over the boy and served the man. Luckily there were no more pilgrims after the couple. 

Hours later, Ben found Peter in his knees praying scared for his life like the very first day Ben had seen him. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Peter fiercely denied himself shaking his head with such a force, his hair went flying. Ben nodded and stayed close to him in quiet state. 

“I didn’t know what to do.” Peter mutter in a short breath. “He was there and I just froze.” At the verged of tears Peter confessed. “I couldn’t serve him. I couldn’t served that man.”

“Why not?” Ben questioned with a tint of caution. 

“I couldn’t serve the man who killed my parents.” Ben soon found himself with arms full of Peter crying his heart out in terror. Oh what he would give to bring the boy some peace and soon came to inquire what had they done to deserve a pure soul like the boy as Peter guilty so asked if he was a bad person for denying service to a parishioner. 

“You are not bad, my son. You are only human.” 

* * *

Years went by with no other incident of that matter and promptly the memory was sheltered back in their minds. They were happy. 

Peter grow up to be the man Ben was sure he was going to be. Kind and soft spoken, easily excited when telling a story talking with his hands that most of the Parrish found endearing. Kids loved him for so many different reasons: giving them treats behind their parents back when they came back being scolded for something but always with the promise of being better next time. 

“Your parents don’t like when you get in trouble and neither do I. You could be hurt and we will worry for you. I would be very sad if something happened to any of you.” 

“Don’t worry, Father. Nothing will happened to us, so you’ll always be happy.” 

“You promise?” Said Peter with puppy eyes. 

“Pinky promise.” The kids laughed and hugged him tightly. Peter watched them go before closing the doors and getting ready for next day. 

The morning Mass was filled with lulled sound and rich scents of lavender and white Sakura trees. The sun wasn’t high yet and so the blueish aura around the city was calming and relaxing, Peter could still see some longing start that refuse to be gone for the day just yet. 

Ben was in his room, the man was older now and even when he enjoy good health Pater made him stay in bed longer to rest and be ready for the day, not even the boy helpers were up yet but either way Peter enjoyed the quietness of the time, never feeling alone nor lost. Simply pleased with himself. 

With a cup of coffee forgotten in the near table, that’s how he was able to see him. 

Walking gingerly but confident he would reach his destiny. Peter had never been able to forget that man and now he was back. 

Peter closed his eyes sending a prayer craving to understand. 

The man reached the opened doors with a timid knock simulating feeling embarrassed of the early hour. Peter turned from where he was standing and gestured for the man to come into the church. Said man took his glasses off and placed them in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. 

“Good morning, sir.” Peter greeted without meeting his eyes fully. His chest flustered in fear and something else he could not quiet piece yet. Hatred. Bravery. Longing. Heartbreak. “You would have to excuse me, sir. The church is not open yet, there are things to be done.” The man didn’t say anything even after Peter invited him to take a seat wherever he felt like it and soon, Peter was conscious of the heavy stare that followed his steps as he fulfill his duties. 

He was mesmerized as the young Father moved easily between spaces, cleaning, caressing, leaving shiny gold underneath his fingertips; the statues were treated with such cared, he was amazed to see it in another human being. 

After opening a window, he was witness of the Father’s beauty such as it was heard around the city and his curiously was picked. 

“I come to make a confession, Father.” The man’s voice surprised him bits and Peter held his hands onto the altarpiece. 

“Our confession days are wednesdays and saturdays, sir.” The stranger smirked and finally left his seat almost at the end of the saloon, coming closer to Peter in steady steps. 

“But, Father. You could make an exception for a lonely man, right?” Tilting his head to a side he was able to see the priest better. “Or would you deny me in part of the Parrish?” Peter felt a pang of pain at the reminder of his past mistakes and scorching tears wanted to flow from his eyes. 

“No one will be denied in our church, sir.” Peter walked ahead the man by three steps. “Please, here.” The confessional was made of wood of dark color and had a simply inscription at the door. The diving wall had the same pattern of a crux letting both Father and parishioner with a sense of secrecy and closeness. 

If Peter thought that was going to be a calm morning, he had no idea. 

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned.” Being told with scaring detail the night his parents were murder in front of him was not something he wanted to relived. 

Peter sobbed with his hands turned into fist on top of his knees not even trying to clear his fave or dim the pain in his voice. 

“I do remember, Anthony.” He said after the man asked with clinical amusement. The man had laughed at his ears and walked out of the confessional. 

Peter followed suit and walked the man out after telling a short penitence. It was not Peter’s place to tell the man to turned himself in, to go to the police, to feel guilty, to regret. 

Anthony had to feel it for himself, God would be there to forgive him, and Peter told him so. 

“Would you?” Peter seemed confused. “Would you forgive me Father?”

“As I said, Anthony. God will forgive you. I’m not God.” Peter spoke in all honesty. With the sincerity of his heart and soul and Anthony laughed happily, it was a long due since someone spoke to him with honesty and no fear clinging in their features, sure Peter had seem fearful when he first arrived but as long as their conversation kept going and details were added, the priest seemed put together with a pang of long and ached but all together. 

Tony smiled and with a shorten bow he said goodbye to the boy. 


End file.
